The Challenge: by singerofthefaythhymn
Pairing- Spike & Buffy. Rating- All. Seasons- After high school.
A story in which-
Pool is played.
A poem is discovered.
Spike is concerned about hair.
Mention of Batman.
One, two, three (or all) of the following quotes must somehow be incorporated. Whether it is mentioned, said, read, remembered, or kept in mind for a theme.
"Desire, even in its wildest tantrums, can neither persuade me it is love nor stop me from wishing it were." W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
"The raging fire which urged us on was scorching us; it would have burned us had we tried to restrain it." Casanova (1725-1798) Memoirs
** "The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." Walter Bagehot (1826-1877)
** "Thou art to me a delicious torment." Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
Asterisks by quotes from the prompt are the ones I used.
I own nothing. Joss Whedon and ME does, blah blah, you know the drill.
She really, really didn't want to be here. But in a way, she did, or else she would be somewhere else. Somewhere with Riley. That stupid, stuck in the 80s vampire had managed to drive that stake into her stomach. Damn, it hurts, she thought as calmly slid into her seat. He would be coming tonight, and that's why she didn't want to be here. It was times like this that she really hated vampires. Especially annoying as hell, platinum blond ones all dressed in black, leather, and chunky old boots, that seemed to come around at the most inopportune moments. She slid her chin into her palm as she waited for him to show.
She hated so many things about him that she didn't know how it was possible to actually stand a night with him. At her request no less! She hated that he could, and would, do almost anything just to piss her off. Like constantly bringing up that spell. Why, oh why, couldn't Giles have done a Memory spell on us after that? She hated being reminded of so many things that night: sitting in his lap, trying to ignore the way he was pressed against her in every way, the way he would whisper softly in her ear, the way his lips felt. She shuddered and sighed simultaneously.
"Thinkin' 'bout me, pet?" he asked casually with a smirk as he snuck up behind her. She jumped as his breath touched her neck, and groaned internally when she realized he was right. Not that she would ever admit that. Particularly to him.
"In your dreams, Spike. Wait, do vampires dream? I mean, I know they sleep, but do you dream?" she asked with false perkiness. No need for him to know she was actually super depressed right now.
"Oh, yeah, we dream, luv. Wanna know the one I had last night?" he asked, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Definitely not," she said, scoffed. She could feel him studying her, gauging her reactions to his presence. She tried to will away the goose bumps that appears on her arms, and desperately ignored the fact that it had nothing to do with him being a vampire. Hell would freeze over before she admitted being attracted to him. And for some reason, it usually was stronger when she was beating him up for information. Must be a Slayer thing.
He sat across from her at the small table, eyeing her intently. He sipped his beer and made a look of disgust as it travelled down his throat. "You know," he began, "there're quite a few American beers that are highly underrated. This, unfortunately, is not one of them." He shrugged and downed the rest of the mug's contents anyway, leaving her with a disgruntled look on her face.
"Update, Spike. We're not here to discuss the fine choice of hops," she said with more malice in her tone. She ignored the way he changed his posture as she did so. "It's about two Slayers: one in China during the Boxer Rebellion, one in New York. Both got killed by you," she continued, flashing the money she held. She almost laughed as he missed snatching it from her. "Tell the tale, you get the cash."
"Right. You want to learn all about how I bested the Slayers and you want to learn fast. Right, then. We fought. I won. The end. Pay up." If she wasn't going to play nice, neither was he.
"That's not what I-" she started, rolling her eyes at his words.
"What did you want, eh? A quick demo? A blow-for-blow description you can map out and memorize? It's not about the moves, luv. And since I agreed to your little proposition, we can do this my way. Wings," he said with a small smile.
"What?"
"Spicy buffalo wings. Order me up a plate. I'm feelin' peckish." She groaned and turned to catch a server's attention. The "stabbing" pain from her wound caught her off guard. Unintentionally, she grimaced and let her hands grab her side for a moment, but it was enough to catch his attention. There wasn't much he could miss, anyway. "As I thought. Some nasty got a little taste of you."
Wish you would get a taste of me, her ID thought openly. He should not be able to say something like that and I think that, she reprimanded. "Don't get all excited. I'm fine."
"Oh, right," he said, almost laughing. "Stuck in a dark corner with a creature you loathe, digging up past uglies, 'cause you're fine." He obviously didn't believe her.
"Just tell me what I want to know," she almost pleaded.
"I told you," he enunciated. "No one's narrating on an empty stomach here."
You could always eat me. She almost groaned at her inner thoughts. Damn ID. If you don't shut up... So, she said the only thing she could think of. "Were you born this big a pain in the ass?" There. That'd get him to get on with it.
"Thou art to me a delicious torment," he smiled.
"What is that? Emerson?" she said, furrowing her brows as to make sure that the correct
reference.
"Very good. Seems our girl has learned a few things after all," he applauded lightly.
"Well, I don't pay three grand a semester to do nothing. I've learned some things," she said defensively.
"Well, well, who'da thunk?" he said in mockery.
She almost smiled. Almost. Then she remembered where she was, and whom she was with and the motion faltered immediately. "How about this? I'll order your stupid wings, and while we're waiting, you can start the story?"
"Deal." He said, crossing his arms in front of him. She got up to order the wings, but he stopped her as she passed. His hand softly brushed her arm, but it caught her off guard so much that it had the same effect as his punching her in the gut.
She whipped her head around and faced him, not realizing how close he had gotten. His body was less than an inch away from hers, and although she had the urge to push him away, she had a greater urge to bring him closer. "What?" she asked in a whisper.
He grinned broadly as he heard the effect his closeness had on her. He heard her breathing and heartbeat quicken and her eyelids close. "I'd like another beer," he breathed against her cheek. He saw her cheeks flush, eyes pop open, and she quickly stepped out of her haze.
She suddenly felt like hitting him. How dare he invade my personally space like that? her mind screamed. How dare I want to be closer? She was mortified. She shouldn't be feeling like this. She shouldn't want to jump his bones, or anything of the sort. She should want to kill him. To drive a wooden stake through his heart. However, part of her...
"Ya alright, luv?" he asked, following behind her.
"Peachy," she lied, wishing it was too dark for him to see her face. Knowing him, he'd know she was lying.
"Keep telling ya'self that." They approached the not-so-packed bar, and he caught the bartender's attention.
"An order of spicy buffalo wings, a beer, and a coke, please," Buffy said, pulling the money from her pocket. She saw a quick movement next to her, and saw that Spike had already pulled out a wad of twenties. He smoothly gave the man his money, and slipped the rest into his pocket. She scoffed disbelievingly.
"What?" he asked, retrieving his change.
"If you have all of that, why are you so desperate I pay you?" she said. She nodded thanks to the bartender as she got her drink and began walking back to the table. She knew he'd follow.
They sat down and he shrugged. "I never said anything about you paying me. You offered. And who am I to deny free money?" he chuckled.
"Well, in that case," she said, tucking the money in her pants. She tried to ignore his eyes follow her hands and linger there. "So, start talking," she said with a bittersweet smile.
"Right then," he said, shaking his head. And so he started his tale. "It started in London, in 1880."
